If Toronto had a runner on first base, he'd urge Ozzie Guillen and Joey Cora to turn two. "Let's go, Karko," was his mantra for White Sox catcher Ron Karkovice.

It is rare but not unheard of for sportswriters to openly root for the team they cover, but Holtzman had written a book considered the road map for sportswriters. The title: "No Cheering in the Press Box."

A couple of innings into the game, Bob Elliott of the Toronto Sun kidded Holtzman about his lack of objectivity. "Uh, Jerome?" Elliott said. "What was the name of that book you wrote?"

Holtzman didn't skip a beat. "Hey," he replied, barely looking up from his keyboard. "This is good for the city."

Holtzman was a Chicago guy, all right. He was also one of the kindest men in a business full of egomaniacs and grumps.

I don't remember when I met him exactly, but I would have been in my 20s, covering the woeful Texas Rangers for the Dallas Times Herald. He made a point to call me by name. Later, when I started popping up at owner's meetings and covering baseball's contentious labor negotiations, he never failed to introduce me to owners or labor lawyers. He was a gentleman.

I close my eyes and still hear him badgering Donald Fehr. "Hey, Donald," he'd say, as a briefing ended. "How about you take something off the table, they'll take something off the table and we can all go home?"